I hadn't heard from my sister in a few days, and a quiet worry began to settle in my chest. We spoke almost every day, and our work schedules usually aligned for us to spend time together about three times a week. Our Friday nights often dissolved into shared laughter and a bit too much to drink at our favorite bar, usually ending with her leaning against my car, while I held her hair back as various vibrant hues of what she drank made their undignified exit.

She was just twenty-one, still navigating the complexities of the world, and being eight years her senior, I felt a deep, almost overwhelming need to protect her. April was wonderfully naive, a little ditzy, prone to believing the most outlandish things she'd read or that her friends would tell her. Her latest passion was the organic food craze, which she certainly couldn't afford, but it brought a genuine sparkle to her eyes, and who was I to argue with her happiness?

Finally, the silence became too much to bear, and I gave her a call, hoping to ease my growing concern. Her voice, when she answered, was laced with a palpable pain. "Hello?"

Instantly, my heart tightened with alarm. "April, are you alright?"

"No…" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"What's wrong? What happened?" My concern was an open book in my hurried questions.

"I fell down at work. I was going down the stairs too fast, and my foot slipped on some water. I just went flying, landing right on my tailbone. The doctors said it's cracked."

"Holy shit… do you need help?" The image of her falling, helpless, twisted my gut.

"Actually, I need to go to the therapist... can you give me a ride?"

"Yeah, of course…"

To shorten a long and painful story, she ended up going to therapy three times a week. But because of the delicate location of her injury, the therapists were hesitant to massage the area directly, and the stubborn swelling never truly subsided. She told me they would massage above the injury, but the actual crack was right at the very start of her gluteal cleft. Even though she repeatedly told them it was okay to massage where they needed to, they never did.

During this time, I became her constant shadow, helping her every single day. Sleep was a rare comfort, let alone the simple act of getting dressed. Bending down was impossible, sitting was agonizing, and even lying down required an intricate fortress of pillows to find any relief. One morning, I arrived to take her to a doctor's appointment, and she wasn't yet dressed. Her apartment was a single room, her living area serving as her bedroom. I waited in the hallway, listening to her stifled exclamations of pain, each one a fresh stab to my own heart.

"April, do you need any help?" I called out, my voice gentle.

"I just need to put my pants on…." I could hear the faint, watery catch in her voice, a clear sign she was fighting back tears.

"I can hear you crying, April… let me help you, please?" I pleaded, my concern overriding any awkwardness.

She considered it, and I heard another muffled groan, probably her last futile attempt to bend enough to pull on her pants. After a few moments, a soft, defeated "alright…" floated from the room.

I stepped around the corner into the room, my gaze falling upon her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed in her pajama top, her bottom half bare. Her pajama bottoms lay a little distance from her bare feet on the floor, and she was standing there in her panties, a picture of vulnerability. I'd always thought she had beautiful legs, but in that moment, seeing her so fragile, my heart ached with a different kind of appreciation. She truly was a beautiful girl, with a sweet face framed by the most gorgeous, long, straight black hair. I walked up to her, my movements slow and deliberate, and gently wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a tender hug. I carefully wiped away the tear that had escaped and traced a path down her cheek. She looked into my eyes, then lowered her gaze, a soft whisper escaping her lips, "Thanks, Mike…"

I took the sweatpants from her trembling hands and knelt before her. She placed her hands gently on my shoulders, using me as an anchor as she carefully guided one foot into a pant leg. I gently moved the fabric up until her foot was through, and then we repeated the same process for her other foot. With agonizing slowness, I pulled the pants up over her legs and gently eased the waistband around her waist, making sure it didn't put any pressure on her injury.

"Where are your socks?" I asked, my voice a soft murmur. She pointed to a laundry basket, and I fetched out two matching socks. We repeated the same careful process, her balancing herself on my shoulders as I slipped the soft fabric onto her feet.

"Can you help me with my shirt too?" she asked, her voice still fragile.

"Yeah, of course." I was a bit confused at first, but then it dawned on me – all her clothes were in the laundry basket on the floor, and she couldn't bend down to pick them up.

She began to take her pajama top off, and I could see the subtle wince that indicated even raising her arms caused her back pain. So I took the bottom of her shirt and gently lifted it over her head. As it came away, I realized she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. For the first time in my life, I found myself looking at her bare breasts, a rush of warmth spreading through me as my heart gave a strange, unexpected leap in my chest. They were beautiful, perfect, and a wave of heat washed over me. This really wasn't something I should be seeing. I bashfully turned my head away just as her shirt came completely off, and she quickly crossed her arms over herself.

"My bra is over there…" she murmured, pointing to the floor near her bed. I walked over, grabbed it, and turned to hand it to her. But instead, she stretched out her arms, exposing herself to me again, a silent plea in her eyes for me to put it on her. I obliged, my hands trembling slightly as I carefully placed the bra straps onto her shoulders. She then turned around, allowing me to reach behind her and hook it. I picked a clean shirt from the basket, and helped her ease it over her head and arms. She then turned back to face me, her eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion, and she hugged me tight. I hugged her back, my arms wrapping around her, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.
"Don't worry, sis. You're going to get better soon," I reassured my sister, hoping my words would bring her some comfort.

"Thank you, Mike. You're always so kind to me. I don't know what I'd do without you," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude. I felt a warmth in my heart, knowing I was there for her when she needed me most.

"No, don't say that. Come on, let's get you ready," I said, helping her with her sneakers. The laces were already tied, a small victory for me as I had never mastered the art of tying them from the front. I gently guided her down the stairs, her home above the bustling business always a challenge for her injured state. With careful hands, I assisted her into the car, adjusting the seat and blankets to create a cozy cocoon for her sore body.

As I drove to the doctor's office, my mind wandered back to the morning's events. I couldn't help but recall the sight of her naked torso, the curves of her breasts, and an unfamiliar stir in my loins took hold. I tried to shake off these thoughts, but they lingered, causing a physical reaction I couldn't ignore.

The doctor's visit seemed uneventful, and soon we were on our way to the clinic. I waited, my mind once again drifting to her exposed beauty. My body responded, aching with a desire I struggled to contain. Just as I sought relief, she emerged, frustration etched on her face.

"What did they say?" I asked, concerned.

"They won't massage where it hurts! They're afraid of malpractice, can you believe it?" she exclaimed, her anger palpable.

"That's ridiculous! They should be helping you, not making excuses," I said, my voice laced with frustration.

Defeat settled over her, and she requested that we head home. I obliged, navigating the streets with care, avoiding any bumps that might cause her pain. As we reached her home, I assisted her inside, my gaze averted as she prepared for a much-needed rest.

A soft cry from the bathroom broke the silence. I knew she needed assistance, and my heart softened at the thought of her pain. "Let me help you, sis. I can take your pants off, and then you won't have to struggle later," I offered, my voice gentle.

She accepted, and I entered the bathroom, my eyes trained on the task at hand. I knelt, my focus solely on her sneakers, then her sweatpants. As I moved, her panties slipped, revealing a glimpse of her femininity. I quickly averted my gaze, my cheeks flushing. I stood, helping her up, her arms wrapping around me, and for a moment, I saw her—soft, delicate, and inviting. I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, and focused on dressing her.

In the living room, I assisted her further, my eyes darting to her exposed skin, my body reacting once more. I helped her into her pajamas, my hands steady, my mind a battlefield of desire and duty.
I carefully guided my sister, April, onto the cozy twin bed, her delicate frame lying on the soft sheets. With a gentle touch, I removed my sneakers, joining her on the bed as she flicked through the mindless TV shows. A soft sob escaped her, and my heart ached for her. I yearned to offer comfort, so I enveloped her in my embrace, my arm cradling her head, my whisper soothing her pain. "It's okay, April. I'm here for you." Her teary eyes met mine, and I tightened my hold, feeling her tremble against me.

"Thank you, Mike. You've been my savior today." Her gratitude touched me deeply.

"It's the least I can do. Those incompetent fools at the clinic should be taking better care of you." I vowed to make up for their negligence.

"Perhaps... perhaps you could try massaging me?" Her request took me by surprise, but I nodded, determined to ease her suffering.

I positioned myself on the bed, my knees straddling her legs, my hands searching for the source of her pain. But my eagerness led me to accidentally aggravate her injury, and her cry of discomfort pierced my heart. "I'm so sorry, April! I can't see what I'm doing."

"It's alright," she reassured me, lowering her pajama bottoms to reveal the smooth curve of her buttocks. My breath caught in my throat as I began the massage, my fingers gently probing the sensitive skin. I recalled the book I had read on sensual massage, its techniques now a distant memory. But I was determined to help my sister, so I focused on her comfort.

My fingertips danced across her skin, applying pressure to the muscles surrounding the injury. Her moan of pleasure spurred me on, and I became bolder, using my palms to caress her flesh, rolling them from the center of her buttocks to the sides. The excuse of draining the swelling echoed in my mind, but I couldn't deny my growing arousal as I spread her cheeks, revealing more of her enticing body.

In that moment, I realized the depth of my desires, and guilt washed over me. I stopped abruptly, my actions no longer innocent. "Are you alright? I don't want to hurt you," I lied, adjusting her clothing to conceal my true intentions.

"It feels amazing, Mike. Don't stop," she pleaded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. I hesitated, torn between my lust and her innocence.

"I... I need to go," I stammered, my voice betraying my conflicting emotions. I couldn't stay any longer, my body betraying my resolve. I hugged her tightly, feeling her lips brush against mine in a fleeting kiss.

As I hurried out of her apartment, my mind raced with the day's events. The memory of her soft skin and her grateful gaze fueled my desire, and I rushed home, my erection throbbing with anticipation. In the solitude of my room, I surrendered to my lust, my release a testament to the forbidden passion that now consumed me.

Day after day, I returned, driven by a need to care for my sister and a desire I couldn't ignore. I re-read the massage book, honing my skills, learning to relax her muscles before tending to the injury. She trusted me, allowing me to explore her body, her shirt discarded and pajamas lowered, revealing her flawless skin. My touch became bolder, my intentions unclear even to myself.

I prepared a soothing massage oil blend, ensuring every ingredient was natural and organic, as April insisted. With a generous amount in my palms, I began my sensual journey, starting with her neck and shoulders. My hands glided effortlessly over her skin, exploring the contours of her muscles and bones beneath the softness of her flesh. I let my touch travel downward, massaging along her spine, alternating between kneading and poking with my fingers, a technique I knew she adored.

Reaching her buttocks, I paused to apply more oil, then began to knead and spread her cheeks, reveling in the sight of her exposed intimacy. I moved to her legs, and as I massaged them, my hands felt like they were caressing clouds. The combination of soft skin, the lavender scent, and the slickness of the oil created an ethereal ambiance.

April lay motionless, seemingly in a state of profound relaxation. Encouraged, I gently ventured towards her inner thighs, my heart pounding. "Is this okay?" I whispered, aware of how close I was to her most intimate place. Her silence confirmed my suspicion that she was lost in a trance of relaxation.

As I resumed my soft caresses, I noticed a twitch in her body. Concerned, I inquired about her well-being, but she remained silent. I realized, to my surprise, that my pinky fingers had been caressing her pussy lips, and her twitches were not of discomfort but of pleasure. Encouraged, I continued my gentle exploration, my hand gradually ascending towards the core of her pleasure.

Within minutes, my entire hand cradled her femininity, and I was captivated by the softness and beauty of her intimate folds. My heart raced, and my manhood hardened at the realization that I, her brother, was pleasuring my baby sister in the most intimate way. I gently massaged her, my fingers dancing over her delicate petals, while my other hand caressed her back in soothing strokes.

Growing bolder, I slid a finger inside her, and she jumped. April's voice shattered the silence, her words filled with surprise and confusion, "Mike, I think that’s a little too much, don’t you?"

I froze, understanding dawning upon me. "I thought you were enjoying it?" I looked into her eyes, seeking permission to continue, "Are you enjoying it?" My fingers continued their dance on her core.

"Mike..." She attempted to push my hand away, her modesty battling her desire. But she remained still, her topless form exposed, unwilling to move and reveal more.

"Just relax," I whispered, my voice a gentle caress. "Let me help you unwind."

"I am relaxed, Mike, but this... this is different. We shouldn’t." Her words pleaded, but her body betrayed her desire.

I persisted, my fingers continuing their soft massage. "It will relax your entire being."

"Mike, this… this isn't right..." Her voice trembled, her resistance waning. I felt her surrender as her body arched into my touch, her moans filling the air.

"God, Mike..." I was captivated, unable to cease my exploration. She buried his face in the pillow as she started to moan, louder. She gripped the pillow in a white knuckled grip, and screamed as her body convulsed from a powerful climax, her body twitching, the pillow muffling her passionate moans.

As her ecstasy subsided, I wrapped my arms around her, offering comfort. She looked at me, confusion in her eyes. I began to apologize, but she shook her head, rolling onto her side, her naked body on full display.

Compelled by her beauty, I cupped her breast, my thumb teasing her nipple. She bit her lip, moaning softly, and I knew she didn't want me to stop. I slid beside her, my arm cradling her head, my fingers continuing their gentle dance between her thighs, and my lips suckling her nipple, savoring the taste of forbidden fruit.
This was a couple weeks ago. The pain in her injured tailbone is going away, and she can now sit and bend down without problems. But, she insists that I continue to massage her. I have no problem doing this.